Offering
by Demon Faith
Summary: Speed doesn't understand. He wonders if Eric would. SpeedEric Epilogue to 'Wannabe'. SLASH


TITLE: Offering

PAIRING: Speed/Eric (forgive me, Neen, for I have sinned)

WARNINGS: character contemplation of suicide

DISCLAIMER: I own not the Miami boys, CBS does.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: My views changed dramatically over this episode. I started by wanting to slash Horatio with his pet Fed, properly freaking myself out, and then girls tried to give Eric money, which set off all my alarms, especially when he smiled at them. sigh Kink!fic, I thought.

And then – Speed happens. Rory Cochrane kills me, and I cry, and hell, the boy needed some comfort and there's only one man for the job. (This kind of logic, however, will probably not stay my eventual execution at the hands of Neen.)

* * *

He wanted to fall asleep and never wake. Just drift in half-dreams and echoes, at peace and unable to ruin and be ruined.

Speed came to a sudden stop outside his apartment, realising just how suicidal that sounded. He could walk upstairs right now, take the cleaver and…sleep.

There would be blood, but he could minimise that, he knew the tricks. It could all be over in seconds, and he would know nothing. Except he knew exactly, because he'd seen it so many times. He'd fall, forever sleeping, and then Eric would…Eric…

Resting his head against the steering wheel, Speed stared through Death and saw Eric. He'd look good in black, wide eyes brimming with real tears, not the choked back half-tears of a professional jerk in front of his boss. No, Eric could never be that guy.

Speed pulled himself out of his car, and headed upstairs. He could see the image so clearly – a broken man with his cleansing spirit, deep amber in a bottomless glass. At the dregs of the bottle, he'd look through, see if the world had righted and, for a moment, he may be fooled.

For a moment.

Perhaps he would throw things. No, Speed knew he would throw things, and shout at an empty room, demanding explanations and answers. Speed didn't believe in an afterlife; Eric would shout anyway.

He rounded the next flight of stairs, wondering who would work the scene. They'd assume murder at first, perhaps an associate of Danny Fisch, wouldn't want the scene to be compromised. Speed hesitated, realising it would probably be Eric working the scene: Calleigh would be emotional, and H couldn't handle that. Besides, Eric and him were colleagues, mere acquaintances. When was the last time they had been seen together outside of work, or inside the building, for that matter?

Everyone believed they'd been a fight, a disagreement, something to strain their relationship to the point where 'acquaintances' was a generous summation. No one would understand his tears at the funeral – maybe some would assume guilt. The kind that paralyses, knocks you over the edge of the world, and leaves you hanging for an eternity until you just…let go.

They wouldn't be far wrong; Eric would feel that guilt, thinking that he should have known, could have done something. Speed found himself frozen on the stairs, an ache spreading across his chest and keeping him from breathing. He would sleep, and Eric would fall. He would break Eric, shatter him into shards that even the most dedicated couldn't piece back together.

The pain grew, until he was choking, and he braced himself against the rail, breathing against the guilt and the failure. Wally died, Wally killed himself, and Speed had…groused, thinking he was late, that he had abandoned them.

So he had. Yet only because Speed had abandoned him, on a blaze of righteous criminalistics, dedicated to the case and only the case. Who cared if people got hurt? He could see the pain in Carrie's eyes, as he'd brushed aside her dream, and he knew what Eric's eyes would look like, knew them as he knew his own heartbeat…

His legs began to work again, his heart slowing to somewhere near acceptable pace, and Speed ran. Sprinted straight up the stairs, possessed of a sudden need to be home, to be caught, to stop falling…

The key caught in the lock, but he forced it open, breathing heavily and stared with unfocused eyes into the apartment. Eric leapt up from the couch, chocolate eyes full of worry and pain. Speed couldn't stop leaning against the doorframe, and Eric moved forward with concern, arms around him in an instant.

"H called me," he muttered against Speed's shoulder, and Speed closed his eyes, close, supported. Eventually, he pulled away a fraction, forehead leaning against Speed's even as he held him, hands splayed across his shoulders.

"Are you all right?"

Speed laughed bitterly, and Eric pulled back further, settling his hands on Speed's face, meeting his eyes with hurt and passion, love and regret. And Speed could fall for miles in that moment save for Eric's hands and Eric's eyes and just Eric, and he could cry real tears, burning hot tracts over his skin and Eric's fingers as they held him.

"It's not your fault," Eric whispered, and Speed tried to shake his head, to pull away, but Eric wouldn't let him. He released his face only to pull his close again, containing all his pain within his arms, shielding him from the world of ruin, both his and the world's.

"It's not your fault." The words repeated, gentle yet firm, and Speed couldn't escape truth from those lips, the soft words piercing right through his heart. Eric didn't blame him. But did Eric know, did Eric see…?

"I'm not the person you want," Speed said, bitter to the core, and was shocked when Eric began to laugh, a soft chuckle under his breath.

"I think I'll decide that," he smirked, voice bright as there was no hurt here, not a wrong in sight. As if he looked at Speed and only saw gold, without the black that leached from every pore, coated every word.

He wanted to be golden.

Eric walked backwards towards the couch, taking Speed with him, and tried to turn him, sit him down. "I'll make some coffee."

With a rush of adrenaline, Speed pushed him down and slid onto his lap, kissing him as if to drown. Yes, he could forget in this, he could be golden in Eric's shadow, in his passion. "Better than coffee," he mumbled against his neck, fingers reaching for the buttons of his shirt.

Eric pushed him away, always gentle, holding him at a distance. "You don't need this right now."

Speed was quite ready to challenge that but Eric pushed him to the side, laying him across the couch in one move. Speed frowned – he needed to work out more. And stop Eric going to karate class.

He stood, another rush, and spat angrily at Eric, voice black. "Why don't you let me decide that?"

Eric stood slowly, weariness in every line of his body, and Speed's fury was quelled. He was taking Eric down with him; they were both going to fall…

"You can't keep burying things, Speed. You can't…hide like this, not with me, not from me. I see that you're hurting, and you need to heal, not…use me to forget."

Speed froze again, as Eric left. He was vaguely aware of the dull buzz of the coffeemaker, but those words dominated his mind. Use Eric? Did he…how…what…use Eric? He sat heavily on the couch, head hidden in his hands. Ruin…he brought ruin…

His hands were pulled away, and a warm mug pressed into them. He took it automatically, warm hands closing over his. He closed his eyes; he didn't deserve this…

"I shouldn't have said that," Eric muttered, far too close. Speed shook his head.

"No, no, you were right, I didn't think…I just…"

Eric moved closer, breath tickling his cheek, and nudged Speed's head up with his nose.

"I shouldn't have said that," he repeated slowly, a small smile forming on his lips. Speed couldn't help but return it, a weak grin tugging at his mouth. He had no right to be happy, though, did he? A kid was dead, and all he could do was smile at Eric as if the world was spinning as it should.

Eric rolled his eyes and sighed. "And we're back to the brooding." Speed opened his mouth to protest, but Eric just carried on. "Though, I admit, it shows off your jaw to good effect and your eyes are always prettier when they're dark and soulful…"

Speed laughed in spite of himself, a quick burst of raw laughter that threatened to spill his coffee all over Eric's hands. Eric wore a triumphant grin, but allowed it to fall to a shadowed smile.

"You're a good man, Speed. And you couldn't have known."

He just lets the words sink in, washing over him in waves. Yes, this is what he needs.

"Something strange happened the other day."

Eric is absently ghosting a hand over his hair, and Speed smiled into his shirt. They're lying on the couch now, Eric leaning against the armrest, and Speed buried into him as if he were three, clutching his shirt as if to never let go. Eric doesn't comment.

"Define strange," he mutters, and feels Eric laugh beneath his grasping fingers.

"We were processing the club, and I was behind the bar. These girls…they just waved money at me."

His voice was wondering, and Speed smirked. The Eric of a year ago would have assumed the attention, probably asked one on a date. The Eric of now, his Eric, had seen his date charred in a night club, been beaten senseless for trying to help, and was currently resting with one Timothy Speedle, whose list of past upsets seemed to permeate the air. That explained a lot.

"Maybe they thought you were…selling."

That earned him a smack across his shoulder, and he finally looked up at Eric, who was trying for indignation but ended up somewhere around…love. Speed swallowed the lump in his throat and settled himself back across Eric. When Horatio sent him home, he probably didn't expect this, but it was as good a rest as any.

The thought stuck, like a broken record, and he froze. Horatio sent him home…

"Eric…why did H call you?"

His pillow shifted uncomfortably, and Speed raised his head again, resting on his arms and staring up at Eric, who was blushing faintly red.

"I got one call from Horatio," he started slowly, "and then one from Calleigh. I think…H was hedging his bets."

Speed's mouth fell open, as Eric quickly continued. "He knew you'd come to one of us, and Calleigh knew it wasn't her, so she called me. I…wasn't really thinking."

The blush deepened, and Speed's lips quirked. "Which one did you tell?"

Eric closed his eyes. "Calleigh."

"What did you say?"

"I'd…see you when you came home."

Speed just stared, the ache in his chest returning but warmer, brighter. Home – yes, he was home, and the knowledge settled inside him, broke him with its beauty, and he felt those real tears again.

Eric reached out for him in worry, but Speed just grabbed his hand, pulling it close to him.

"That was…the right thing to say."

And when Eric smiled, Speed was golden.


End file.
